


Breakfast For A King

by EmerialynCodeVenice



Series: Djinn Dirk AU [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But Terrible At Communicating, Dirk Even More So, Dirk Is Adorable Covered In Food, Dirk Is Jealous, Djinn Dirk Oneshot Series, Food Is Amazing, Jake Is Oblivious To All Feelings, Learning How To Cook..., M/M, Recovering/Traumatized Dirk, Self-Loathing Dirk Is Hard On Himself But He Is A Genius, Seriously Cooking Is Hard, jake is so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 01:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmerialynCodeVenice/pseuds/EmerialynCodeVenice
Summary: Where slightly misplaced jealousy towards Jake’s childhood friend Jane causes Dirk to attempt to cook breakfast. Obviously, given that he’s a former spirit who was imprisoned for thousands of years and from a time without technology, it’s… an interesting endeavor.AKA: Djinn Dirk gets jealous and attempts cooking. Enough said.





	Breakfast For A King

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Name: An English Breakfast 
> 
> Fun fact, this is actually the FIRST Djinn Dirk one-shot that I made after The Greatest of Treasures. However, I thought it important to have a lot of other moments in-between before this one came. I still think it may be a bit too soon (especially since it jumps to a Dirk who is loosely able to use technology), but, given Dirk’s status as a genius, it’s probably not too much of a stretch. 
> 
> This is a fun one for me, having Dirk cook. But it also showcases just how quickly he is learning and picking up stuff of the modern era. Seriously, consider how it must be for people from a third-world country to suddenly be thrust into a technological empire—then imagine how it’s like for Dirk who has been imprisoned for thousands of years in an underground cavern. Of course, as a result, he is very eager to learn everything he can.

                                                                                      

You stand in the middle of the lodge kitchen, staring intently at the silver and copper pots and pans that surround you before glancing back at the open computer on the table, the screen bright and opened to the ‘ _Google Search’_ window. It was the middle of the night, Jake was asleep. Honestly, you should be too, but you had a goal in mind and, until you accomplished it, refused to sleep.

…if you accomplished it at all, that is. What prestigious goal did you have, one may ask?

Cooking.

And not just _any_ cooking… cooking _breakfast_.

For Jake.

Yeah, easy as pie, right?

_Hell no._

You bite your lip, reaching over to begin typing, before hesitating. What were you even doing? Cooking? You could barely handle _‘appliances_ ’ as it was without freaking out, nonetheless _use_ them in a way that will make something remotely edible. Especially since you didn’t have Jake here to help you… but, of course, that was kind of the point since this whole ‘ _breakfast’_ thing was your attempt to repay him back— _even if it was just a measly fraction, since you would never be able to repay him for all he’s done._

When it came to your confusion towards the modern era, Jake was more than patient with your lack of understanding— _which, if you were to be honest, was to be expected after being imprisoned in the Cavern of Hearts as a non-eating spirit for thousands of years—_ given his own lack of experience with technology, but it was admittedly humiliating to have to ask him about every last thing you didn’t know about. In fact, that’s what had likely led him to introduce you to the _‘internet.’_

It was remarkable— _if overwhelming—_ to be able to look up every last thing you wanted to know and get in-depth descriptions. You were admittedly glad not to have to bother Jake as much… if slightly sad to not have an excuse to bother him anytime you wanted— _which was ridiculous since you had basically spent this last month **glued** to his side since being freed from your life as an indentured spirit. _

However, even with your rudimentary understanding of the internet— _or, rather, it actually made this whole goal of yours worse—_ you were still rather hesitant at your current course of action. Why were you even doing this again?

You feel a _pang_ inside you, hands gripping the countertop as you recall last night’s conversation…

_Flashback_

_“Jane?” you repeat, hesitating at the unfamiliar name as you look across the dinner table of your current housing; a rented-out lodge with a fully stocked fridge from the innkeeper down the hill. “Who’s… she?”_

_Jake grinned. “Jane, Jane Crocker, is one of my closest friends. We’ve known each other since childhood, a fine lass she is.” You brow creases, though you don’t know why. “But I was just mentioning how she would be rather aghast at this spread.”_

_He gestured over your table, a rueful smile on his face as he nods to the loafed bread and canned beans in front of you both._

_“What’s… wrong with it?” you ask hesitantly, feeling a bit uncomfortable. You really didn’t see any issue with what you were eating, had been eating for the past month. Of course, you were still getting used to food in general after being without for thousands of years—so, perhaps you weren’t the best judge._

_“Oh, nothing!” said Jake, shaking his head. “I’m quite content to spend my, our,” he corrected with a thoughtful expression, making you brighten, “travels with the bare necessities, it’s actually rather enjoyable to rely on one’s own means, but just that Jane has much higher standards when it comes to a meal.”_

_“So, she’s… a cook?” you ask, resting your head on a bent arm as you look at Jake’s face in the lowly lit room._

_“Oh, yes!” said Jake eagerly, not noticing your frown. “Jane is a wonderful cook! Inherited her grandmother’s company and has certainly done her proud, if I do say so myself.”_

_“Did you…” you trail off, unsure what you were asking. You were unsure if you wanted the answer either._

_“Get to partake in her meals?” filled in Jake, grinning widely. “You betcha! While she is an expert in all things sweet—” How ironic it was, that you suddenly felt like you had swallowed something sour. “—she can certainly make a number of fine meals. Why, her roasted lamb—”_

_End Flashback_

You feel a scowl form on your face as you recall the conversation. You weren’t entirely sure why, but it left such a… bitter taste in your mouth. And, of course, when you thought about how bitter it left you, it only made you feel worse. You had no right to feel that way.

Normally, seeing any reason for Jake’s smile would make you feel warm, like you were walking upon sunlight itself, so why did that conversation from yesterday make you feel so… _resentful_?

You shake your head, returning your attention to the kitchen and its ‘appliances’ ( _you were so lucky that Jake was more than patient to explain these words to you, otherwise you’d never get a handle of the present era)._ You were also _immensely_ grateful for the internet and how Jake, even as ‘technologically-illiterate’ as he claimed to be, had been more than happy to help you learn your way around it.

Glancing back and forth one more time, you nod to yourself and click on one of the tabs that sit next to the Google Search tab. It says ‘ _YouTube,’_ and you knew from experience that it held many strange but intriguing videos. Of course, there was only one type of video you wanted right now… or at least one area.

Hesitating for a moment, you center yourself before typing in to the Youtube Search bar: _Making Breakfast Food._ You flinch as _thousands_ of videos pop up in various lengths. You bite your lip, thinking hard for something more specific before recalling that Jake had said something about enjoying coffee and a proper ‘ _English breakfast.’_

At first you had been confused, wondering if his family had a specific breakfast. It took a moment before he explained that he had grown up on an island off of England and that ‘ _English´_ also referred to being from said country. He then showed you a map of the world, align with all its different colors and shapes. It had been overwhelming to see so many different countries, as well as confusing since you distinctly recall some of the maps in the Cavern of Hearts to appear different. When you had brought this up, his smile faded and you realized that those maps had been from when you had been alive… a world that didn’t exist anymore.

You shake your head, getting rid of said thoughts from your head as you look up your desired search in the Google Search tab. You read through multiple articles before choosing a group of recipes that are ranked ‘ _five out of five stars’_ and reading, and rereading, the recipe. It was full of words that you didn’t understand— _not just ‘appliances,’ but also kitchen tools and even food—_ but, again, that was why you were immensely grateful for the internet.

You look at the ingredients list:

_2 Sausages_

_2-3 Rashers of Bacon_

_2 Flat Mushrooms_

_1-2 Ripe Tomatoes_

_1 Thick Slice of Black Pudding_

_1 Potato_

_2 Large Eggs_

_2 Slices of Bread_

You frown. It also ‘ _per person_ ,’ which you were pretty sure meant that you had to double the ingredients since there were two of you. Or, perhaps not, since you were still getting used to the whole eating thing and didn’t consume as much as Jake. But, then again, Jake ate _a lot_ if allowed to so… yeah, you should probably just double it.

You glance over the ingredients against, deciding that you should probably get all the ingredients and then start on the actual cooking. You head over to the fridge, hesitantly opening it— _once, you had been confused when it didn’t immediately open, and **pulled** it open as hard as you could… it hadn’t gone well—_ and feeling a blast of cool air upon your skin as you did.

The refrigerator light turned on, displaying its wares on three different shelves with milk and other products on the side shelves. You bite your lip, glancing up and down before looking back at the computer, to confirm what you were looking for— _and what they looked like; you had no idea what ‘black pudding’ was._

Your hand slowly lowers to the bottom shelf where a white carton sits. You flick it open to confirm that they were eggs before pulling them out. You reach into the bottom bins, recalling that to be where the innkeeper had said the vegetables were, and pull out a few ripe, red tomatoes, two dusty potatoes, and a container filled with small mushrooms with a pleased expression.

Finding the sausages and bacon were a bit harder— _they were actually in another part of the fridge—_ and you were dismayed to find that there was nothing resembling _‘black pudding’_ at all in there. Your heart sinks as you place all the ingredients— _besides the bread, which already sat next to the ‘toaster’—_ on the table next to the computer. This was already turning out to be a failure.

You breathe out, centering yourself. It was fine, you could still do this.

The computer light dims and you quickly swipe a hand over the touchpad, making it brighten once more. You look at the first step of the recipe.

  1. _Heat the flat grill plate over a low heat and brush sparingly with light olive oil._



You panic. Olive oil? What was that? You didn’t remember that being in the ingredients list. You open another tab on the computer and look up _‘olive oil,’_ calming when you realize it was just to help flavor and prevent the food from burning. You look around the small kitchen before deciding to just open all the cabinets. You should have done that in the first place, so you knew everything that you had to work with.

In the middle of doing so, you realize that it’d probably be rather odd for Jake to see the kitchen in this state and fervently hope that he doesn’t wake up for any reason. It was the middle of the night, and he slept like a rock from what you seen, but he still woke up pretty early so you only had a few hours to accomplish this… a few hours that you had a sinking feeling wouldn’t be enough.

With every cabinet you opened, you quickly memorized— _or, at least, got a rough estimate of—_ everything that was inside them. You had no familiarity with most of them, but knew that you were looking at various spices, oils, dishes, and cooking tools. It made you feel a bit better about your chances of succeeding at this.

With a breath, you pull out the olive oil— _a light yellow liquid in a plastic bottle—_ and pick one of the copper pans and place it over the stove, carefully pouring olive oil into it. You wait for a moment.

Nothing happens.

You frown before realizing that you hadn’t turned the stove on yet. It takes a few tries, and fiddling with the button below, but, eventually, a light turns on as you turn it to ‘ _low’_ and you can feel distinct heat emanating from the pan. You grin, allowing yourself to feel pleased for a moment before controlling yourself. This was just the start after all.

You return to the instructions.

  1. _Cook the sausages first. Add the sausages to the hot pan and allow to slowly cook for 15-20 minutes, turning occasionally, until golden. After the first 10 minutes, increase the heat to medium before beginning to cook the other ingredients._



You pause, taking in all the words, before nodding to yourself. You reach over to the sausages, frowning as you pick them out from their plastic wrapper. Would these really cook? Over a fire, it was easy to understand how they were cooked all the way through, but this was… electric? Yeah, electric. You knew, logically, that the pan was producing heat right now, but would it really do the trick?

Deciding that the internet knew more than you, you place the sausages on the pan, jumping back when they _sizzled_ and sent a few juices flying. Panicking, you grasp over for a ‘ _spatula’_ and quickly maneuver the sausages back and forth, calming when you realized that it really was cooking. It said that it would take twenty minutes, so you glance at the next step on the list.

  1. _Snip a few small cuts into the bacon. Place directly on the pan and fry for 2-4 minutes each side until your preferred crispiness is reached. Like the sausages, the cooked bacon can be kept hot on a plate in the oven._



Your eyes widen at the last part. They could be kept warm in the oven? You felt relief wash down your spine. You had been so worried that everything would go cold before Jake woke up, but apparently, it didn’t matter? Technology was wonderful, no one would or could convince you otherwise.

You grab the bacon, grimacing as oil and grease cover your hands, before placing them alongside the sausages— _that you’ve been meticulously, if sloppily, turning every minute—_ to cook. They sizzle and pop as the sausages did, but by now you’re used to the sound and splatter so you barely bat an eyelash.

As the meats cook, you turn your attention to the oven, frowning at the many buttons before returning to the laptop. It takes a while, and more than a few websites, but you figure the process to keep the oven warm— _but not cooking—_ and press the coordinating buttons, feeling giddy as it begins to slowly warm.

By now, the sausages and bacon have finished, so you grab the handle and open the oven. Light heat pours out and you place it all inside, pan and all. Grinning, you quietly close the oven door and straighten up, feeling more confident than ever. You read the next instruction:

  1. _For the mushrooms, trim the stalk level with the mushroom top. Season with salt and pepper and drizzle over a little olive oil. Place stalk-side up on the pan plate and cook for 1-2 minutes before turning and cooking for a further 3-4 minutes. Avoid moving the mushrooms too much while cooking, as this releases the natural juices, making them soggy._



You frown, a bit confused, before going over to the YouTube and typing in ‘ _cooking English breakfast mushrooms’._ You watch a woman appear onscreen— _while Jake called these and ‘televisions’ idiot-boxes, you were fascinated with everything that was possible with technology—_ and begin to go through a process quite similar to yours.

You pause the video, grabbing the container of mushrooms and a knife, before restarting the video. You closely follow her movements, grimacing when your cuts turn out much less fine than hers, but push on. Once you’re finished, you pick up the cut mushrooms, turn towards the stove, but then stop with a curse. The pan you had been using is the oven, but it was full anyway so you doubt there’d be room for the mushrooms anyway.

Swallowing, you set down the mushrooms— _mentally cursing when you drop a few small pieces to the floor; it was going to take **forever** to return the kitchen to how you found it—_ and grab another pan from the countertop, sprinkle it with olive oil, and set it on the still hot oven— _oh, you supposed you should have turned that off?_ Dumping the remaining mushrooms in the warming pan, you look at the next step:

  1. _For the tomatoes, cut the tomatoes across the center/in half lengthways and, with a small, sharp knife, remove the green ‘eye’. Season with salt and pepper and drizzle with a little olive oil. Place cut-side down on the pan and cook without moving for 2 minutes. Gently turn over and season again. Cook a further 2-3 minutes until tender but still holding their shape._



You stare for a moment before sighing, returning to the YouTube tab and looking up _‘cooking tomatoes’_ in the Search Bar. You click on the first one randomly, wait two minutes for the person to stop talking, and then follow their movements on how to properly cut tomatoes. Red juices and seeds cover your fingers when you finish— _and you swear that you cut that small one in half, but it looked like a triangle somehow…—_ but you manage to carefully place the tomatoes beside the mushrooms to cook.

You stir and move around the objects on the pan carefully before opening the oven to check that nothing was burning. While you had checked, and double checked, and _triple_ checked, that you were following the instructions exactly, you were still paranoid that it wasn’t doing what it had promised you it would. Or, rather, that your inept attempts at controlling technology would come back to bite you in the ass.

The sausages and bacon remain where you left them, unburned but keeping warm. You sigh in relief, closing the oven before any more heat can escape. You wipe sweat from your brow, surprised that this was such an exhausting task. Or it could be that you were taking this too seriously. You doubt it. You wanted this to be perfect for Jake. So good that he forgot about _Jane’s_ cook—

You shake your head, placing your hand on the back of your neck as you sigh and look at the wood ceiling. What were you thinking? Were you… jealous? No, it couldn’t be. You were nothing. No one. A lost spirit in a time that he didn’t belong in. You survived on Jake’s pity. If he ever abandoned you, there’d certainly be no one crying tears over when you eventually perished. You had no right to be… jealous of people who actually belonged in this world. Especially those that Jake held dear to him…

 _‘But you’re his treasure, aren’t you?’_ a voice whispered insistently in your head. _‘He’s not out there traveling around with **Jane** , is he? No, he’s with **you**.’_

 _‘Only because he feels pity for me,’_ you argue with yourself, well aware that you were probably insane. _‘And… and he knows that I have nowhere else to go. He feels responsible, and if I ever get self-sufficient he’ll probably leave—’_

You freeze, staring at the food cooking in the pan. Self-sufficient. Figuring out this world’s technology and cooking were parts of becoming self-sufficient, weren’t they? What were you doing? If Jake figured out that you were learning to cook, it was just one step closer to him leaving you. You should stop, should throw this _all out—_

You wrench open the oven, grabbing at the handle of the metal pan, determined to _throw it out—_

**_BURN_ **

Immediately, the metal of the handle _burns_ and you cry out, hissing as you automatically drop the pan back to its original spot and cradle your hand to your chest. Trembling, you open your hand and wince, seeing the red outline on your fragile skin. Given how pale you still were— _even after a month in solid sunlight as you and Jake traveled around—_ the burn shone brightly against your skin.

You curse. It really wasn’t that bad, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. You knew Jake kept a med kit in his bag, but that was in his room and there was no way you were going to chance waking him when the kitchen was in this state. Not to mention he would undoubtedly ask what you were doing and possibly see your burn…

Sighing, you walk over to the sink and turn on the cold water, pressing your hand underneath. It stings, but it’s more than manageable. More of a surprise than anything.

You glance at the stove before looking around the kitchen. The stove was covered with grease splatters, mushrooms talks and tomato seeds across the counter, and pots, pans, spices, oils, and other assorted items and objects around. It was a mess, and for what? Were you really going to throw it all away— _waste food, **Jake’s** food—_ and feign ignorance?

…No, you weren’t.

You breathe out, turning off the faucet and gently padding down your sensitive hand. You had no right to waste Jake’s food _or_ try to hide anything from him. He deserved your best efforts to become competent, if only to be less of a burden upon him and even if it meant that he’d abandon you sooner.

And… there was no guarantee that he’d leave you one day, right? After all, you were…his treasure. While he denied that you were an object and constantly asserted you were your own person— _you know that he was trying to make you more independent or something, but it honestly made you feel sick; you hadn’t been your own person for a very long, long time… you had no idea how to be one anymore—_ you liked to pretend that you belonged to him. That he would never throw you away or get bored… After all, he had _chosen_ you out of everything there, so surely he intended to keep you for a while, right?

Nodding to yourself, you return to the stove and take the pan with the mushrooms and tomatoes— _grimacing; they looked overcooked—_ from the stove, placing it inside the oven with the other one, careful to avoid brushing your skin again against the metal.

You straighten up, heading over to the computer for the next few steps. It didn’t matter if— _when—_ Jake got rid of you. Until he did, you would do everything possible to make life better for him. You could spend another few thousands of years at his service, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Nonetheless, this situation where he does more for you every day than you could ever do for him. The debt just kept increasing, but you let it suffocate you, taking comfort in the fact that you would always be indebted to Jake.

You skip the next instruction— _it was about the black pudding… which you didn’t have—_ and read the next two quickly.

  1. _For ‘proper’ fried bread, it’s best to cook it in a separate pan. Heat a frying pan to medium heat and cover the base with oil. Add the bread and cook for 2-3 minutes until crispy and golden._
  2. _For the fried eggs, break the egg straight into the pan with the fried bread and leave for 30 seconds. Cook to your preferred stage, but runny is considered best with toast._



You brighten. You were familiar with toast and eggs, both prominent enough in your travels with Jake and you feel like, even when you had been alive, you must have had some. Finally, something you were remotely familiar with…

_Or not._

A few minutes later found you carefully spooning out eggshells from the yolk, grimacing as you accidentally break one of the yolks. Yellow spills over its previous barriers and spreads everywhere, making you groan quietly. You had forgotten how easy eggs cracked and gotten shell _everywhere—seriously, how had you gotten it on the **walls**? _

It’s also harder to flip over the toast and eggs than you thought it would be. The spatula was especially awkward now that you had burned your hand— _you were such a wimp, this was ridiculous—_ and even more unwieldy since you barely knew what you were doing in the first place.

Eventually, you succeed in cooking both the bread and eggs to a satisfaction before putting it all in the oven to stay warm. The last step was just saying to ‘ _serve warm’_ and ‘ _have a bit of ketchup’_ along with it.

You grin, pleased as you rub your head. You were tired, no doubt, but you didn’t think it turned out _too_ bad. You turn towards the stairs, excited to get Jake—

You pause, taking in the kitchen. As Jake would put it, it looked like, ‘ _a tornado had gone through it’._ All the cabinets were opened, assorted spices and pans laid out, random splatters of egg and vegetables covered nearby surfaces…

You press a hand to your head, groaning as you realized that you still had a _lot_ more work to do. Sighing, you start towards the dirty pots and pans, they weren’t going to clean themselves after all…

o0o0o

So… here came the moment of truth.

As you finished up cleaning the _last_ splatter, you heard movement from upstairs. A glance at the clock informed you that it was around the time that Jake woke up. You were glad that you had made it in time. You had snuck away from the bed in the middle of the night, not really confident about your abilities and allotting yourself many hours to figure this all out, so it was likely that Jake was wondering where you were right now. It wasn’t often that you woke up before him, even with your insomnia. You hoped that you hadn’t worried him…

Swallowing, you hear his muffled voice— _likely your name—_ before hearing footsteps from the top of the stairs. Frantically, you check the table behind you for the hundredth time in the last hour. It remained the same as ever. Your amateurish results laid out as nicely as you could with what you had on hand in the lodge. You hoped that it was enough. That the innkeeper didn’t get mad at you or Jake for using them. Oh, shit, you didn’t even think about that—

“Dirk, where are you chum? Is everything okay?”

You swallow, hands grasping open and closed as you stand ramrod straight in the kitchen doorway. This had been a mistake. How could have been so _stupid—_

Something skips a beat in your chest as Jake walks down the stairs, looking around curiously before his gaze lands on you. He is dressed in his pajamas— _a simple shirt and well-fitting green shorts— and_ a bright smile fills his face— _how was he so awake already? How did he look so **good** already—_ as he nods to you. “Good morning, Treasure!” he said cheerily. “Was wondering where you wandered off to. What you doing up so early?”

“I, erm,” your tongue gets caught in your mouth, becoming heavy and unusable. “I…”

Jake’s expression narrows, worry entering his brow and you mentally curse yourself for putting such a look on his face. Instead of speaking, you step to the side, gesturing with your head towards the kitchen table.

Confused, but trusting— _always so trusting—_ he walks down the rest of the steps and over to you. He opens his mouth, probably about to question you further, when he finally catches sight of the table behind you.

His eyes widen.

_You hold your breath._

“Great gadzooks, Dirk! Why this… this is the full monty!” exclaimed Jake, green eyes wide as he surveyed the table with a dropped jaw. “How did you…?”

He tangles a hand in his hair, gobsmacked. You blush, face brightening as he continued to look speechless over the table.

“You should try it first,” you said hurriedly, trying to prevent him from getting his hopes up. From thinking it was anything but amateurish. From thinking that this was anything close to _Jane—_ “I, uh, I mean, it’s my first time. And, uh, I think even when I was alive I didn’t—”

“Dirk,” chided Jake, seeming confused at why you were speaking the way you were. He just didn’t understand yet, that, while you were trying— _were willing to try just about **anything** if it meant helping him or making him happy—_ you were still far below a competent level for surviving in this modern era. “I’m certain that it’ll be wonderful. Just look at it! And, well, you know what they say…”

You stare at him blankly— _because he knows full well that you, in fact, ‘do not know what they say’ about anything on the account of being a thousands of years old spirit—_ until reason dawns on his face and he smiles sheepishly.

With an apologetic nod, he continues, “They say, ‘ _breakfast like a King, lunch like a Queen, and have supper like a pauper.’_ And this here, Dirk—” he gestures over the table once more, “—is certainly fit for a King!”

A small smile works its way on your face, warmth filling you from his words as you shyly look down. It really wasn’t all that much. Especially since you had to make due with what you had laying around the lodge. You were up all night, and _still_ you barely managed all of this. And you were still covered in stains and bits of—

“Dirk?”

You jolt from your thoughts, looking up to see Jake gesturing eagerly to the seat next to him while piling his plate full with eggs and sausages. “Why, come on, Dirk!” he grinned brightly, the brightest you’ve seen yet. “You worked so hard, it’d be a shame not to partake while it’s still hot!”

Despite your self-loathing thoughts, you felt yourself being overtaken by the brightness of his smile. It was that smile that saved you before, that continued to save you now. Right now, it was caused directly by something you did. So maybe, just maybe, you could ignore those little whispers in your head. Just for now.

You sit next to him, smiling as he pulls the toast closer to you and a blush forming when he whispers in your ear, “Well, let’s tuck in, shall we?”

Later, when Jake is laughing as you stand at the kitchen sink— _you cleaning the dishes and he cleaning the egg bits that somehow got in your hair—_ you find that, if he’s the one fixing them, perhaps… even your mistakes could be good.

_Breakfast for a king indeed…_

**Author's Note:**

> Dirk being able to cook, and taking to it as he does most things—with genius-level of skill and effort—it actually not just for personal fluffy fun. If I ever have time to write the sequel, it’s actually an important tidbit that Dirk can cook. 
> 
> Let’s just say it’s a convenient… excuse for him to move in with someone… 
> 
> Someone that’s not Jake. 
> 
> …Do I have you curious yet? 
> 
> Please leave a Comment or Kudos to tell me how you’re liking this story or this series! I get such happy vapors when I think about Dirk cooking for Jake—even if it’s without the cutesy apron—and even more so with my learning Djinn Dirk doing it. If you have any ideas or thoughts, please leave them below (especially if you have theories about what I have planned for Dirk in the chapter sequel…).


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